


Found but Lost

by sleepybook_wyrm



Series: Dream loses a brother but then finds several [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Angst, Best Friends, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream and Toby Smith | Tubbo are Siblings, Friendship, Gen, I'm sorry lol I have no idea how to tag for this fandom, Nicknames, Older Sibling Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Philza being a dad, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sad, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, also I refuse to tag BBH's real name sooo, also i'm serious i will fight your honor for the sibs, also why are their real names attached that's kinda weird, and a dogpile lol, and adopting left and right, and dream isn't currently being good brother material, angst angst as far as the eye can see, but only the kids he can see :'C, choo choo, he gets one, hi hello im happily ignoring canon weee, im soft for big brother dream ok, meep, ngl was not expecting the friendos to turn out so cute, so there is SOME comfort lol, they're brothers fight me your honor, this hurt me, warning: i suck at tagging, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepybook_wyrm/pseuds/sleepybook_wyrm
Summary: Dream loved him, more than life.He didn't want to say goodbye, but there wasn't much else he could do.Face far too vulnerable and bare in the crisp, dry air, he silently promised to build the both of them a home.A home...But that wasn't how it turned out, was it?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap & BadBoyHalo (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Dream loses a brother but then finds several [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080209
Comments: 28
Kudos: 272





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> lol I don't know what this is.  
> I have a rudimentary knowledge of Minecraft (nothing extensive) and I'm constantly finding out new bits of lore for this fandom, so please forgive me if nothing makes sense. If nothing really does make sense, I place all the blame on this being an AU and me being sleep-deprived  
> Also, I'm an anxious human bean that lets the post-button bully them, so the only way I could get myself to post this was if it was as an anon hhh  
> I'm a sad sack :D
> 
> Anyway, if ever a cc expresses discomfort with this kind of thing, I'll take this down. I just love these characters and wanted to dabble in the sandbox a little. Again, characters. I ain't writin about the ppl folks

Dream wasn’t alone, to start out with.

No. He wasn’t alone. That came later.

Back then, he had Bo.

It was one of his older memories, but one that never failed to hurt him the most.

He was standing in the snow, ragged clothes dwarfing his small frame, his ratty coat resting around his little brother’s shoulders to give the poor boy as much conserved heat as he could. His brother was asleep on his back, cold face curled into Dream’s equally cold neck, small arms wrapped tight around Dream’s scrawny shoulders. The wind nipped at them, skin pale and pallid, the previous rosy hues having long-since fled their cheeks.

Dream was scared. He remembered that feeling, like everything was caving in around him, crushing him, burying him, killing him. There was no escape for him, nowhere to run, and all he could do was stumble onward like he was now, try to dig his way through frozen ground back up to the sun. 

He was eight when he first carried the world on his shoulders. Carried it for Bo. Still carried it now that he was ten.

He couldn’t stop, not for a second, not for a single breath. Stopping meant failing, stopping meant falling, stopping meant leaving Bo just as trapped as he was.

So, beneath the grey underbelly of uncaring clouds, Dream trudged through the thick snow, the icy crust crunching beneath his feet as his steps fell through to pound the powder below. Trees laden with their heavy wintry burdens rose all around them, penning them in, making Dream feel more lost.

He couldn’t afford to be lost. This was important.

For Bo.

Everything around him was unfamiliar; Dream wasn’t used to winter biomes, but this had been too necessary, too crucial, to let that stop him.

Bo deserved better.

Before he knew it, he was there.

He had heard rumors of the man who had temporarily set up a home around here, set up a home far away from most to raise three rowdy children away from others, away from danger. Dream couldn’t help but admire him for it; it was smart. So smart. Maybe, Dream could be smart too.

Maybe...this _was_ Dream being smart. Something certainly ached enough in his thin, brittle chest for it to be a decision of his brain over his heart.

The cozy cottage couldn’t be seen from here, though Dream knew it existed, knew it was nearby, perhaps even just over the crest of the hill. That wasn’t what Dream had been targeting. No, the house itself was too close, he couldn’t get that close. Bo wasn’t trapped, but Dream was and he couldn’t get that close or else he might falter.

What he stood in front of was a road.

All things considered, it was a lovely path, paved in stone and cleared of ice and snow. It was a crisp line through the forest, a crisp line to somewhere that Dream knew the man traveled every day around this time.

The man was loving, the man was kind. He was different.

Dream prayed he could be trusted, prayed he hadn’t heard wrong.

Slowly easing the arms he had hooked under his little brother’s legs out and around to gently shift the boy—his entire world—until he was hugging Dream’s front rather than Dream’s back, Dream looked down at the five-year-old in his arms more precious to him than any gold or diamonds. His breathing was soft and steady, breath small puffs of white in the sheltered pocket Dream’s battered form provided, the older’s back buffeted by the wind. He was still asleep. It was probably for the best.

His little face, his tiny features, they were all rounded and soft and sweet in a place that carved kindness unwillingly into a blade. That face wouldn’t be carved, not like Dream’s own, not if he could stop it. Bo would keep his sweetness if it ended him.

Feeling suddenly uncharacteristically indulgent, Dream clutched his brother tighter to him, curled around him fully, shielding him from the cold, from the ice, from the world. He buried his too-vulnerable face into the tiny boy’s shoulder, tears welling involuntarily and freezing along light lashes as arms grasped desperately, _afraid afraid afraid._

_Can I let go?_

Footsteps.

Dream floundered, fear ricocheting through his bones like a gunshot through a vast mountain pass. He was out of time.

_This isn’t about you._

Pulling out the cardboard box from his inventory, the one with Bo’s real name scribbled in childish scrawl on the side along with his favorite nickname (though not Dream’s nickname for him, never Dream’s nickname for him; the boy would only accept Bo from Dream. That was how it had always been, and Dream was so very selfish. He couldn’t quite give that up, not to strangers, no matter how kind), Dream placed it down strategically on the side of the path so the name faced forward and anyone who walked by would see it.

Well, not just anyone. Some _one_.

Someone who could keep Bo safe better than Dream and teach him how to keep the sweetness in his face despite still knowing when to harden his eyes and fight. It’s something Dream can’t teach because it isn’t something Dream knows, but he’d seen the man before.

Dream had no doubt the man could kill with more ease than any soldier, and yet there was sweetness in his smile and love in his eyes. He can teach Bo. He can. He has to.

He has to. Because...Dream can’t.

With a note of finality and resignation leaving pangs through his marrow, Dream placed a warm kiss to his little brother’s forehead, helplessly trying to convey through the action all his tumultuous thoughts and feelings to the child more precious to him than himself, before burrowing his nose in soft hair for the last time.

Then...his heart splintered, broke apart, crumbled to nothing and his features fell alarmingly blank.

The boy was carefully placed in the box, tattered coat remains bundled snugly about his form as though it could actually keep him warm, and “ _I’m sorry, Bo_ ,” was whispered for only the wind to hear.

It wailed.

The child frowned, cold and missing something important, but still asleep.

And the other—older, but still a child himself—expertly erased his tracks around the box and off the side of the path in a flash before hastily retreating to the surrounding forest.

From the trees, pale green eyes narrowed, watching, calculating, as a kind father turned the bend, spotted the box, approached it, and then rushed to pull the child inside close upon discovering the contents. The father gazed around the clearing, crystal eyes bright and clear, but saw no one. His attention returned to the box at his feet and he at last saw the scribbles.

“So your name is Tubbo, little one?” His voice was questioning, his face concerned. Bo didn’t stir. The father rubbed his hands up and down the boy’s back, attempting to warm him though it couldn’t have done much. 

The father frowned, inspected the area around the box, toed the box itself around to see the other sides as though other messages were waiting. There were none.

Only a name and a nickname.

It had to look as though he had been abandoned, even if he was the furthest from it.

The father sighed. Green eyes narrowed further.

But the man stood up, turned from the box, and carried on down the path. Faintly, on the breath of a particularly large gust, the man’s voice could be heard as he said for his supposed audience of one, “I guess you’ll be coming home with me, then, Tubbo. Welcome to the family, my name is Phil.”

Then they were gone.

The clearing was quiet. Even the wind died down, a kicked dog.

Dream emerged from his hiding spot, watched until the very tip of the man’s head vanished from view, and then he was alone for the first time in his life. Though, certainly not the last.

He didn’t want to say goodbye, but there wasn’t much else he could do.

Face far too vulnerable and bare in the crisp, dry air, he silently promised to build the both of them a home.

A home they can one day be safe in.

A home they can one day be proud of.

Even if he has to break himself to do it.

That was Dream’s worst memory, and it followed him everywhere he went.


	2. Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp lol  
> That didn’t last long.  
> My best friend boosted my confidence and got me to take this out of anonymous, so um hi  
> You’re all lovely, thanks for reading :)
> 
> also lol this next part was supposed to only be 2k, but then it spiralled and I had to split it into two parts someone help me—
> 
> Tw: implied death, respawning (so, actual death), blood, and honestly impressive amounts of angst, i’ve amazed myself, congrats me *cries*

It took eleven years.

* * *

He wore a mask now. Had since he was on the cusp of eleven years of age—when he was still ten, but not quite—the time before he’d met any of his friends and he was still alone. His face had always felt too vulnerable, and he didn't want to face the world without something to separate them, to stay between him and it so he could keep some part of himself free of his burden.

If he was exposed, he feared he'd crumble. That he wouldn't be able to take the pressure any longer and shatter to dust.

So his face stayed hidden, and what remained of his battered heart was left alone to soldier on behind its flimsy shield of porcelain. It was the only way.

Then, one by one, he found his friends, and they eased some of the ache.

Yet the mask remained.

* * *

It was still so clear to him. That day. That beautiful, perfect day, although he hadn’t known it was perfect at the time.

It was perfect now, in his memories, only because he knew what happened.

His tiny twelve-year-old self couldn’t have known, couldn’t have fathomed something so improbable, something so unlikely.

But it did. It happened.

And there was a boy.

He stood in front of him, right in front of him, and Dream was afraid and wary and tired. So, so tired, to the point it curled under his skin and bleached his bones. No one had told him how exhausting it was to fight like this, to fight for life. No one had told him, but, then again, it didn’t look like anyone had told this kid either.

He didn’t look nearly as tired, but that was to be expected. Dream was not the same as him, not the same as most left on this rotting server.

The kid was probably only lost.

(Dream ignored the obvious signs of hunger in the kid’s lean form and the desperate light in those riverstone eyes, the way he carried himself nearly the same as Dream—awaiting an attack any second—or the way he clearly had a well-worn blade tucked up his ratty right sleeve. He couldn’t have been much older than Dream himself, in fact, probably a couple years younger.)

The kid was fine. Surely, he was fine. There was no way he was alone like Dream, alone like Bo could have been if Dream hadn’t acted and been smart. The kid had to have family somewhere, people somewhere, all looking for him.

(his brain rebelled, protested, insisted: _you know there’s not. Anyone who could’ve been have already left._ )

He couldn’t believe that. Couldn’t accept it.

( ~~ _no no no anything but **alone**_~~ )

Finally taking in the full picture rather than narrowing in on the fine details, Dream cautiously stepped back, keeping a tree behind him for cover from possible mobs. He hadn’t meant to be spotted, hadn’t meant to get caught, but the kid had come from the shadows of the forest before he could react, before he could scramble up nearby branches to safety. It left him here, now, frozen in place on the ground and terrified of the boy, terrified he might bring Lopers with him. 

But the kid didn’t move, didn’t call out. He just stood there, watching with an unfamiliar look in his dark eyes. A peculiar scrap of cloth was tied around his head and it caught Dream’s own pale leaf gaze, not that the kid could see it from under his mask. The cloth?—headband?— _whatever_ was keeping unruly raven hair from clumping in front of his eyes.

"Are you stuck here?"

The voice was gentle, not a threat, but Dream’s brain filled with electrified static anyway and all he wanted to do was protest, was scream, was to be left alone because _no no he's not he's not stuck he just can't **leave** no no no leaving not until Bo does FIRST—_

His body doesn't so much as twitch. "Yes."

The kid looked at him with something soft and reassuring and pensive. There was fire in his eyes, Dream thought. Fire that warmed something that lied cold in his chest. The kid slowly reached out, slowly offered him a hand. "Then how about we be stuck, together?"

And Dream didn’t have a response to that, didn’t have words to express what funny thing he was feeling. The boy—the child—the ~~friend??~~ was warm, so warm, and Dream was cold and tired of fighting and tired of _**alone**_. He was tired of everything, and he wanted to have someone again.

All he could handle was a mute, tentative ( _scared_ ) nod.

It was a silent exchange.

_Trust?_

**Trust.**

The smile he received made it more than worth it.

And the hand, warm in his as they started walking together, breathed some life back into him.

He grasped it tightly until his knuckles were almost white, until it almost hurt, afraid the second he let go, this would all have been a dream.

Not that it wouldn't have been a good one.

* * *

"So, what's your name?"

"...Dream."

"That's a nice name. I like it!"

"...yours?"

"I'm not really sure yet, but I think it's Pandas."

"...that's a nice name too."

"Really?"

"Really."

“...eh, I might still change it.”

Dream laughed, a quiet kind of wheeze, and it startled him.

Pandas smiled at it, and Dream practically glowed.

He didn’t know he could still do that anymore.

* * *

Pandas was a short-lived name. The boy hadn’t liked it, and liked it even less when Dream grew comfortable enough to tease him with it, use it to call him cute, something he really didn’t appreciate from the taller. For a while, they resorted to calling him Headband because it was simple and the boy didn’t mind it.

One tired evening, when both were dead on their feet from fending off mobs and traveling to safety, both had started an argument over who should take first watch. Dream, in his near-delirious state, had meant to tell the other boy to “Go take a nap, you sap,” when instead “Go take a sap’y’nap,” tumbled from barely functioning lips.

After a hushed silence had befallen the two—registering what had been said—both exploded into giddy laughter, the noise not stopping, not even twenty minutes later. Their feverish giggles spouted almost endlessly over something that wasn’t really all that funny—Dream’s laugh an unpracticed, unsteady _wheeze_. To them in that moment, so desperately in need of a good laugh, it was the funniest thing in the world.

Needless to say, Headband had won the right to first watch that night fair and square by smushing Dream’s face into their limited bedding until he conceded defeat. He had been unable to lift his head and keep it up any longer, their rough-housing only further sapping any remaining strength, and he crashed only seconds later, falling blissfully into the confines of sleep.

It was a regular thing for them to fight over the shifts. Dream was stubborn and Headband even more so. Whenever Dream took first watch, he would purposefully let the younger boy sleep longer, stay awake far too long into the night himself until the dark sky would be rosy and Headband would wake with an upset scowl on his face to early morning light. In retaliation, the boy insisted he take first shift from then on. Dream had objected, so it then became a regular occurence for them to battle over it. Headband usually won.

The next morning, as soon as Headband woke up from the cocoon he’d made from their blankets and had moved over to Dream to see what he was making with their rudimentary supplies of wheat, water, and carrots, he grabbed Dream by the shoulder and shook him lightly to garner his attention. Turning his porcelain-covered face up to face the sky, Headband grinned down at him and flicked the face-covering, something teasing in his warm eyes.

“Yeesh, we’ve gotta fix your mask, buddy. Not gonna lie, it’s pretty creepy.”

Dream shrugged. Appearing creepy had never been a concern when his only company was himself. He didn’t mind the blank, white porcelain surface. It served its purpose and that was all he asked.

Headband flicked his mask again. Annoyed, Dream had corrected the thing, fixing its placement after being knocked slightly askew. It was an odd sort of game that seemed to amuse the boy, and Dream didn’t mind it too much; Headband knew the rule well, Dream knew he wouldn’t take his little joke too far. Headband knew Dream trusted him, and Dream knew he wouldn’t jeopardize that for all the riches in the world. 

The mask was to stay where it was. No exceptions.

But Headband’s excited energy, his happiness, was so infectious, Dream couldn’t even remain annoyed with him for long. “Dream, I think—” he laughed, high and giddy, grabbing for Dream’s hand instead and Dream let him with a small smile. “I think I’ve got it!”

“Got what?”

“My name!”

Turning to face him fully, Dream was giddy now, too. He liked all the names he had for Headband, a new one would be fun to learn and use, and—even more exciting—this might be the one to stick. The one to settle into place, and he couldn’t be more happy at the prospect for his— 

Friend.

For his friend.

Something in his chest melted a little more.

“What is it?” he asked eagerly, his mask lifted high enough to reveal his wide grin.

“You already know it, sillyhead, you called me it last night,” Headband teased, poking the older boy in the side.

Dream swatted his hand away with a choked off wheeze before he froze, casting his mind back. “...Sapnap?”

“Yeah.” The younger’s smile was soft, his smooth, pebble-colored eyes somehow carrying all the warmth of the sun in them, as if they really were small stones and they had been taken and left outside to soak up as much sunshine as they could for a thousand days. “Sapnap,” he repeated, tasting it on his tongue, “that’s me.”

Dream still wasn’t so sure. Chosen names were important, and his friend sounded serious about this one. “Are you sure?”

“I want to remember,” Sapnap said in lieu of answering. “Every time someone calls for me, I want to remember how happy we were last night, and I want to feel it every chance I can get, every time I hear my name.” He huffed a fond laugh. “Sapnap. See? It’s working already.”

And Dream tackled his friend in a fierce hug, clung to him tight because _he’d never expected to have someone like this ever again._

He was lucky. So, so lucky.

Alone couldn’t have him because he had Sapnap. 

Sapnap was more than he’d ever expected to have.

So he clung to his friend, his best friend, his only friend, and he cried silently, offering all of his shaky congratulations as Sapnap clung to him in return and rubbed at his back reassuringly.

Dream had given Sapnap his name. Dream named him.

It reminded him of another time, and another pair of boys.

* * *

The ink was black on the sharpened tip of the white quill pen, and it was enchanted to be permanent, found in an abandoned schoolhouse.

“Here, let me— _hey_ , quit it! No squirming! Let me _just_...oh.”

“Oh? Oh what?”

“Ha, um. I think I made it a gajillion times worse.” 

Dream groaned, dreading the next time he’d get to see his face in the reflection of a stream.

How badly could someone mess up a welcoming smiley-face?

* * *

A lot, apparently.

Sapnap had a moustache doodled on his upper lip in retaliation that night.

Mercifully for Sapnap, it wasn’t the permanent ink.

Dream wasn’t cruel.

* * *

“Why are we here?”

Dream frowned under his mask, scouting the area with sharp, calculative eyes. He wasn’t paying attention to anything else, wasn’t paying attention to his best friend. He was concentrating, and when he was concentrating, all his mind could focus on was what was in front of him.

Snow crunched softly underfoot as he moved, and answering footfalls fell into step behind.

He ignored them.

In front of him, rising out of the trees in a quaint little clearing, stood a house. Log cabin. Whatever sort of word one wanted to describe it with, except home.

This wasn’t a home. Clearly, it wasn’t.

There wasn’t any warmth.

Stopping to stare at it with enough intensity, it could’ve _burned_ under his gaze, he was startled by a hand resting heavy on his scrawny shoulder. The contact made him realize he was shivering.

He turned to look and found bright, welcome, stormy grey. The eyes the color originated from were open and expressive and more like a home than the barren skeleton laid out in front of them.

The house had clearly not been lived in for some time, Dream never needed to worry, he could’ve saved them the trip.

They could jump-ship now and Dream would have no objection to it. There was nothing to be guilty over now, nothing to cage him other than what always would cage him.

“Dream, why are we here? Why won’t you tell me?”

The older boy dipped his head in a show of acknowledgement, acknowledging his friend’s words, but he did not answer. His vision was much too filled with the sight of frozen over doors, frosted boards and panes of glass, empty chimneys, dark windows, and hauntingly undisturbed snow blanketed all around in the quiet thrall of a world unlived in, a world dead to life.

This was how it should be.

How it had to be.

Dream turned his back and walked away.

But not before he latched onto his confused friend’s wrist and brought him away, too.

It was a dead world, and Sapnap was far too alive for Dream to bear him being near it any longer.

It was time they go.

* * *

That night had been quiet.

Neither spoke, and neither moved to go to sleep, having safely left behind the winter wasteland and no longer shivering violently from the cold.

They sat around their fire, and they stared into the flames.

Dream was pondering. Sapnap, the older boy was sure, was truly staring, the fire a known comfort to him.

Dream saw it fitting. Life should attract life, and nothing was more alive than fire.

“It’s okay, you know.”

Dream looked up, surprised to have the stillness shattered. 

Sapnap was smiling at him. The crackling fire between them only further softened the smile, adding an outside source of heat to what was already warm in the form of flickering oranges and yellows that danced over ashen olive skin. “You don’t have to tell me why we went there. Or why you brought me with you. I can’t stand going to my old home, either.”

It wasn’t his home.

“Brings back a lot of unpleasant memories, doesn’t it?”

It brought back none. The place wasn’t familiar, he’d never even seen it before.

“I don’t mind that you took me to look at it one last time, but let's actually focus on getting out of here now, okay?”

Okay.

He had found all he needed, anyway. There was nothing left here. He could leave.

He wanted to leave.

Sapnap...Sapnap wanted to leave with him.

He nodded his head and did his best not to let his gaze wander back to the stone path several blocks beyond Sapnap’s shoulder, the one they had followed to escape the cold.

That was familiar.

He stared pointedly into the fire and let it all burn away.

* * *

It took a week, a week of time Dream didn’t think they’d have, but they reached it. They both made it.

They stood on the edge of escape, stood on a once peaceful, grassy hillock where flowers used to grow and bees used to buzz. There was none of that now, nothing that would even hint at it once being a happy place. All of it was dead grass and sun-baked earth, dusty and scattered as bone meal without any of the potential for growth.

Though, for both boys now, maybe it was a happy place again.

Because there it was.

The portal stood tall at the head of the hill, shining down over everything like a queen from a throne, the corrupting land beneath it its subject. It was a sickly looking tear in the reality of this world, this server, and it shed an ugly, unhealthy pale green glow over everything near it, everything surrounding it, unstable flashes and surges of light ducking in and out of its weaved swirl.

The hair on the back of Dream’s neck stood on end, static prickling through his marrow, claws trailing down his spine.

“So this is where she died, huh?”

Dream cast his gaze to the side, his best friend on his left, staring at everything he was staring at, taking in everything he was taking in. He didn’t see what Dream saw. 

“The admin,” Sapnap clarified.

Dream shrugged. “I guess.”

It hardly mattered now.

They had to leave. He didn’t want to dawdle around long enough to find out if the Lopers were still around, to find out if they were guarding this place, the only exit. The only escape.

Wanting to be rid of this place, wanting to let go of it forever, Dream made a grab for his friend’s hand—Sapnap’s hand already meeting him in the middle—and the two raced for the portal without stopping once to think.

An angry shout sounded from far away behind them, but it was too late.

They tumbled through to the other side with a harsh crackle and a pop, almost as if their world hadn’t wanted to let them go, and scrambled to their knees on a different server—a public one—dry-heaving into healthy, emerald grass that was almost soft to the touch and so different from what they knew. No green portal swirled in the air above them; they had simply fallen from the sky, popped into existence. One second nothing, the next something. That was just the way of things.

Taking in one breath, Dream could instantly tell the difference.

Could instantly feel the healthily supported code around them, not crowding and insisting and defiling, but inspecting and repairing and _living_.

The air almost tasted the same on his tongue, but the energy in it was new.

He could have cried.

Then Sapnap was there, wrapping his arms around him and curling into his side, equal parts laughter and sobs escaping his hiccuping lungs, and Dream’s resolve shattered. He broke down with him.

They stayed there, just like that, just the two of them, for hours.

They had forgotten what this felt like.

* * *

The new server was strange.

But, then again, staying so long on a steadily corrupting one had probably done more to alter their version of normal than they were probably aware of.

Neither minded too much. They were just happy to be free.

( ~~ _Not free. Never free. Lies._~~ )

Seeing as the broken, unstable server portal from their own world shot them out at whichever random available server it could, they didn’t know anyone in this new, unknown place. They didn’t even know the admin. Didn’t even know if it was safe.

It put Dream on edge, but Sapnap liked it, so he tried to keep himself optimistic, for him.

Sapnap, they would find, was correct.

It was a lovely place to be. 

Their second day, they met someone.

* * *

“Why are you stealing my chickens?”

“Oh.” Sapnap had the decency to look sheepish. “These are your chickens?”

He placed the hen in his hands gently back on the ground.

The new boy looked down on Sap, tall, but Dream suspected that was only due to age. It was very clear this newcomer was older than either of them, maybe even sixteen. Compared to Dream who was almost thirteen and Sapnap who was eleven, he was really _very_ old.

It seemed like a good thing to tease him over.

“Is there a problem here, sir?”

The boy sputtered. “ _Sir_? Okay, I’m not _that_ old!”

Bingo.

“If this here whippersnapper is causing you grief, I’ll happily remove him for you. It’s only right we care for our elderly, after all.”

“ _Why you_ —”

And that was how they’d gained their third member.

After, of course, a lot of screaming, a lot of chasing, and heaps and heaps of water to put out the fires they’d unintentionally started.

Looking back on it, Dream considered it a small miracle on its own that the boy hadn’t immediately murdered them on the spot so he wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore. Then again, maybe dealing with them was exactly why he let them stay, why the boy himself stayed.

The house he showed the two was just that: a house. There was no one else inside.

Dream couldn’t blame the boy for wanting a home, too.

* * *

“So you can’t see color? Like, at _all_?”

“No, idiot, I can see colors! I just can’t see them the same way you do!”

“I dunno, that seems awfully suspicious to me, dude. What do you think, Dream?”

“I think we should stop tormenting him. You can’t blame the poor guy for his vision going—”

“I swear to the gods, I can and _will_ stab you.”

Dream held up his hands with a chuckle. “Duly noted, you are one to be feared.”

“Darn right.” The boy sniffed and put away the stick he had pulled out to threaten him with, his power-play a “success.” It had everyone cracking grins.

A comfortable silence settled around them, then, and Dream hummed to himself, content in this moment, tucked together on the couch with Sap and this new friend—George, he told them to call him—sitting in a chair across from them.

It was nice being able to take a break, to relax, to no longer have to run. Dream was still hesitant to let go entirely, to become complacent, but he could ease up for now. Sappy would pout and mope if he didn’t. 

It was also strange not being in clothes worn to their limits, edges fraying and seams shredding, almost as strange as being clean for once. Thankfully, George was taller than both of them, so his clothes fit without being too small. They almost fit Dream perfectly, seeing as he was nearly as tall as the older boy.

They only drowned Sapnap by a lot. 

Predictably, he hated it and Dream loved it. Teasing became a regular occurrence, and was the start of more than a few scuffles. But the scuffles weren’t serious, weren’t real—the smiles were.

That felt precious to Dream.

“Why are you always wearing that mask, by the way?”

Dream snapped to attention, instantly alert, but Sapnap answered for him before he could, and did it with far more ease and nonchalance than Dream could have even attempted. “It makes him feel safe, dude. The server we came from wasn’t exactly all sunshine and rainbows, y’know.”

George rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know. You’ve only told me a dozen times.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to ask him why he feels safer without people staring at his face, loser.”

“Are we never going to be able to have a civil conversation?”

“I dunno, pretty boy, what do you think?”

George buried his face in his hands with a groan. “I regret ever letting you in here.”

“Aw, look, he woves us, Dream, he’s distressed!”

“More like _stressed_. If I get stuck with you for much longer, Dream’s stupid elderly jokes might actually start holding weight.”

Sapnap lit up. “Is that the plan?! Dream, are we gonna turn George into an old man?!”

“Sounds good to me!”

“What?! _NO_ , you _idiots_ , don’t you even start—!”

All sense of calm flew out the window as swiftly as it had come and then all three boys were roughhousing yet again, flinging throw pillows into faces as they duked it out while Dream slunk away to build a small fortress from the couch cushions and denied entrance to either of them until they could get along. Seeing as neither could, it ended up only costing them fealty, George offering cookies and Sapnap a rock.

“What? Why’d you accept that?” George loudly complained, sitting beside Dream in the fortress with his head ducked low to avoid hitting the ceiling as Sap clambered in behind him, “I actually gave you something!”

Dream shrugged. “It’s a pretty rock.”

“But I had to give you cookies!”

With a chortled wheeze, Dream shared his spoils with his friends to make it more fair, giving each of them one of the treats before securely hiding away the stone in his inventory. He had wanted the rock a few days ago, but Sapnap had snatched it up from the side of the road before he could and refused to give it to him. The worth of the rock itself was nothing, but the worth of the games they centered around it were priceless. He didn’t doubt the next day Sapnap would find a way to claim it back.

It was almost like its own game of capture the flag, and Dream delighted in it.

Delighted in having someone _there_ to play it with.

All three of them laid down under the low blanket ceiling with cushion walls all around, and they laughed. Laughed at stupid jokes, laughed at Sapnap stealing more cookies, laughed at the part of the fort over George collapsing on his face, laughed until their sides hurt and they couldn’t possibly laugh anymore.

A couple years ago, Dream couldn’t have imagined happiness like this, couldn’t have imagined living so long, couldn’t have imagined laughing ever again. He still couldn’t do it right, still couldn’t figure out how to breathe simultaneously, but both boys assured him they loved his wheezy, breathless laugh anyway.

He thought he might love it, too.

(He hoped, wherever he was, that Bo was happy like this, had always been happy like this. His brain couldn’t accept anything less when it thought of his small hand in his, and the barren pit in his chest remained empty, although at least now it was warm instead of blisteringly cold.)

When at last all three boys were winding down for the night, sleepy yawns escaping without consent, George piped up with a final query.

“I know the mask is an off-limits topic, but, um, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s up with the smiley face? It’s freaking creepy.”

Dream punched Sapnap in the shoulder.

Hard.

* * *

They had stayed like that for almost a year, stayed with George in his house and clung to one another. They were all each other seemed to have, and no one wanted to take that for granted.

Even so, the time came when it happened, when Dream’s wanderlust cried out to be fed and his heart thumped painfully loud in his chest, begging him to _move **please.**_

He couldn’t stand staying in one place any longer, could no longer feel safe no matter what he tried to assure himself with. It became obvious to his friends early on, with how he jumped at every little shadow and couldn’t catch a wink of sleep unless he was safely held in one of the other boys’ arms, cuddled close. They knew he had nightmares. They didn’t know what they were about.

It was better they didn’t.

But with his state deteriorating by the day, neither were surprised when he finally addressed what they all had known was coming.

“I have to leave. I understand if you guys want to stay, but I...I can’t. A-and I get it! Really, I do. You—either of you—you don’t have to come with me, just, know that I’ll miss y—”

He was tackled to the ground, buried at the bottom of a dog-pile as two aggressively scowling faces stared down at him from behind his mask.

“Oh by Ender, you _numbskull_ , what makes you think we’re gonna just let you go out there alone?”

“Yeah! What he said! We aren’t just going to let you leave without us, dummy, we stick together!”

The scowls were easing up into soft smiles, and George’s was the brightest, lighting up his chestnut eyes with honey. “That’s right! We _are_ sticking together,” his arms curled tighter around Dream and Sapnap and he pulled them impossibly closer, “because we’re the Dream Team.”

Sapnap laughed. “The Dream Team!” he repeated in a cheer, as though to affirm its authenticity on his end.

Dream could only lie there, stunned, amazed, and bewildered.

_How was it they kept surprising him?_

But neither of his best friends let go, neither of them left him, and Dream shone as much as he hurt.

( ~~ _was he smart? was he really smart? or was smart this? was smart not leaving even when all odds said it was smart to let go?_~~ )

~~**Had he chose wrong?** ~~

Dream didn’t know.

* * *

“What are those?”

George stood in the dusty room—a place clearly not visited often, a place Dream had never entered, never seen, and had never once thought of entering because George avoided it—delicately fingering a pair of thickly white-rimmed sunglasses. His smile was bittersweet, and Dream felt a matching pang in his own heart. _Ah._

“They were my mother’s.”

Dream didn’t need to hear another word, but he was still given several.

“She was an incredible fighter.” 

He didn’t respond.

George took in a deep breath. “We’re leaving tomorrow, and I can’t—I _can’t_ leave them behind.” He looked up and there was something imploring in his gaze, something in his dark eyes that begged for understanding—the earth begging the plants that had found support in it to understand its own pains, too. “I need to have something, you know?”

Dream knew. Even if he didn’t in practice.

He had nothing.

He was glad George had something.

* * *

Respawning would never be a pleasant experience.

Dream had respawned plenty of times, probably far too many times to have somehow managed to survive. Everyone knew respawning on a dying server was risky. The world seed was already unstable, the code steadily crumbling with every year that passed, and with that crumbling it could barely support much else, restoring life to what was dead becoming a dangerous game of roulette with people regularly slipping through the cracks, never to be seen again.

One should never die on a corrupting server.

Yet, Dream had died on his twenty-eight times before he had met Sapnap, and each one had been an armed brush painting solely in shades of panic and relief. He didn’t want to die, didn’t want to permadeath, wanted to be with _Bo_ again, but another part of him, a smaller part steadily growing larger and devouring the rest of him, told him it was the only way he could ever be free.

So he eventually found peace in those twenty-eight individual moments, only to find himself waking up to dead air, a hot sun, and no one.

As he had gotten better at being alone, surviving alone, the deaths came more infrequently. Most were due to his first year truly alone, when he no longer had something to protect, no longer had a desperate need to continue living for someone else.

Of course, then the feeling had come right back with a vengeance as soon as he had Sapnap by his side. He had become cautious again, hadn’t died once.

But this new server, it turned out, _had_ made him complacent.

It was obvious in the way he hadn’t heard the skeleton coming, hadn’t seen the readied bow until it was too late, could only react and hope for the best.

On instinct, he jumped in front of George and took the arrow to the chest.

They were two months in on their adventuring around, still on the same server, so they had managed to get ahold of various iron weapons to defend themselves with, rudimentary wooden ones tossed aside to be used later as kindling.

To George and Sapnap swords, and to Dream an axe.

It was with an iron sword that Sapnap made short work of the mob and then they were falling back, dragging Dream between them back to an area they had occupied previously, one that was well-lit.

Dream had died plenty of times. He knew what it felt like.

It felt like this.

The arrow was lodged deep in his chest cavity, blood spilling all over the ground as they stumbled along, brushstrokes of red painting the world with grief. It was choking him, in more ways than one, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because this wasn’t a hardcore server—no, those were banned unless gifted—and it wasn’t a corrupted one either. He wasn’t sure why such a big deal was being made about it, why his two friends were shouting and crying and not finishing him off so he could pop back into existence, good as new and none the worse for wear besides a few shiny new scars.

Not entirely coherent, Dream hoped Bo had never once respawned.

“Don’t be daft, bows don’t respawn—hey! Stay awake, _please_ , just for a little longer, okay? We just—we’re almost there. _Please_.”

Dream stayed awake.

He still didn’t understand why neither of them had their swords in-hand or in his heart, but he stayed awake. For them.

He didn’t have to understand for him to want them both to stop crying.

He might’ve hit his head on a rock at some point because his thoughts were fuzzy as cotton. That, or it was only the blood loss.

Looking at how much he’d bled, it was probably the blood loss.

Reaching the familiar glow of torchlight—placed before when they’d been excited at the prospect of exploring at night and had plenty of torches to spare, that is, until they’d run out and had stupidly decided to continue on in that foolish, blundering way of youth—he was carefully set on the ground with a pained grunt, and then everything around him exploded into a flurry of urgency.

While Sapnap ran around resituating torches to better provide a unified circle of light, George frantically moved to their chests and pulled out supplies he thought would be useful.

They wouldn’t be. Dream knew.

There weren’t any potions in there.

Both were back by his side in a matter of moments, but he was already nearing the point it was difficult for him to draw breath, coughing at the painful scrape of air through his throat and into his lungs. He was clearly too far along, but neither seemed to care.

Dream didn’t get it.

“Wait, wait, you didn’t set a bed?! Quick, quick, set the bed down, set the bed down, his respawn point isn’t set, he’s going to wind up far away from us!”

“He shouldn’t _have_ to respawn, oh gods, he shouldn’t have to!”

“Well he _might_ —just, quick! Help me lift him into it, then we can worry about the arrow and bandaging him up!”

Everything blanked and his world fell away.

* * *

He had woken up perfectly fine to two worried, tear-stained faces.

As was expected, he had a new scar just below his clavicle and was lying in the usual sleeping bag he used as a spawn set-point. Even with the help of inventories, an actual entire bed was a bit much to pack for an excursion in the wild, so travelers typically made do with substitutions instead.

What was less expected, were the ensnaring hugs he was wrapped up in, arms pinned to his sides as his best friends squeezed him tight and sobbed out broken apologies into his shoulder and neck.

It short-circuited his brain and left him feeling lost; he was fine? Why were they reacting like this? What was wrong?

After enduring a near hour-long lecture, he finally figured it out. They were worried about him. They cared about him, were concerned for him.

They didn’t care about the fact he was fine now. They cared about the fact he _wasn’t_ fine then. They didn’t care that he would pop back up, freshly respawned, they cared that he had been hurt, had been hurting, and didn’t want him to feel that ever again.

It was alien. But. Nice.

Dream didn’t quite know what to do with it, but he liked imagining Bo had something similar to it because Bo should have nice things like this. Dream, it was debatable, but Bo? Bo deserved the world.

And if afterwards George practically trod on his heels to stick close to him and Sapnap almost obsessively clung to his hand? It never crossed his mind to mention it.

Permadeath wasn’t a stranger to any of them, and it would probably always haunt them, respawn or no.

* * *

For several years, they server hopped, going from one hub to the next. 

That was how most public servers operated. While there _was_ an admin to keep things organized and orderly, they weren’t in charge of the server portals—public server admins were trusted by the gods enough to be granted a world, but not trusted enough to choose who entered and stayed in it. Or, perhaps, it was that they were more trusted than most to keep the peace between so many people, who could tell? No one really knew the gods’ motives when granting adminship. In any case, instead of the admin controlling everything, a permanent server hub was always open for people to enter and exit into hundreds of different servers depending on where they wanted to go. 

Private servers didn’t have these hubs because the admins of those kinds of servers had complete control over the portals. Specific people could be whitelisted by the admin or suggested by others of the server and approved by the admin, and then the server portal would be opened before them, no matter where they were, to enter. 

Those servers didn’t have specific hubs, the admin having to reopen the portal for anyone who wanted to leave. It wasn’t a power that could be exploited; they were obligated to let anyone who wished to leave go, a sort of binding in their code. It was the only one, however, and it was a fair one.

If the admin of a private server was no longer able to carry out this duty, then the portal would tear itself into existence where they were last, a final escape for the people to jump-ship.

But, seeing as the trio wasn’t exactly friends with anyone in high places, they stuck mainly to the much simpler public servers, hopping from one to the next as they pleased.

They made a lot of friends that way, along with—not enemies—more like...very disgruntled acquaintances. 

Some friends stuck with them for a while, others came and went.

All were appreciated while they were around.

* * *

They avoided bad places.

* * *

“You all don’t have parents?”

Dream shrugged while Sapnap and George chorused a “Yeah.”

“And you’ve just been wandering around together?”

“I mean, if you want to textbook definition it, then sure.”

“Do any of you have a home?”

 _No._ Dream clenched his fists at his sides. _But I will. I’ll make one. I promised._

He shook his head with the others.

“Are there _any_ adults here?”

This time when they all looked at each other, they cracked stupid, silly, foolish grins. “Nope! None!”

The demon hybrid looked at them as though they had all signed his death certificate in finger paint and had then gone on to write him shockingly insulting obituaries.

Which was, hilariously for them and unfortunately for him, not all that far from the truth.

Dream almost pitied him. Almost. But the eighteen-year-old _had_ called him a muffinhead, and Dream had never before been so insulted by a not-insult in his life.

Later, it would be more than made up to him when the demon hybrid invited them to his house and made them muffins.

So long as it was one of Bad’s muffins, Dream supposed he didn’t mind being told he had one for a head.

* * *

As they went from place to place, Dream kept an ear out for news. He was desperate for anything, anything at all.

He found exactly what he was looking for, multiple times.

Just the word of a hardcore server admin with four sons living on another server, all alive and well, was enough to put him at ease for weeks.

* * *

In that time, those years that passed, Dream shot up in height, and Sapnap had, too. A bit. Not as much as Dream, but both still delighted in their newly shared growth.

George remained mostly the same height-wise, only slightly taller than when they’d first met.

It made him the subject of numerous teases, all of Dream’s best jokes redirecting themselves from his age to his new status as “short.”

And George hated him.

“Oh _no_ , Gogy, do you need someone to help you reach the top shelf?”

George, glasses firmly shoved over his eyes instead of resting atop his hickory hair, scowled darkly. “I hate you.” He also stopped short and turned around to face the other, scowl falling away to visual confuzzlement. “Also, what? There aren’t even any shelves, we’re in the middle of a spruce forest.”

And they were.

“Eh, that’s not the point. The point is, if there were any shelves, you’d totally have to ask Sap to reach ‘em for you!”

Sapnap pumped a fist. “Heck yes! Tall dudes supremacy!”

He and Dream high-fived before George stuck out a foot and tripped Dream into falling into a lake.

As an apology and an insult all wrapped into one, George later got him a truly _hideous_ , obnoxiously lime green hoodie while trading.

Dream loved it.

He could hide the rest of his head in it.

* * *

Some public servers held tournaments and challenges of skill.

They were fun, and Dream won many of the ones he’d competed in, all three of the Dream Team greatly enjoying themselves during them. Sometimes, Bad would come with them to cheer them on. He rarely participated himself.

It was a known fact Dream was competitive, and he moped piteously every time he lost one of the matches, much to the laughter and light teasing of his friends.

But it was never anything a hug and a muffin couldn’t fix. Dream really was getting quite addicted to those things.

No one ever even thought to ask him why he cared so much about winning.

* * *

They met others in their travels hopping about, of course they did. Bad was merely one of the few constants they returned to and frequently visited, the demon hybrid kind and open in a way that had them gravitating back to him again and again despite his initial refusal to abandon his house to become a vagabond with them.

(They offered every time they went back, and every answer was the same. Bad had a demon bond with a mortal he considered his very best friend, and he needed to stay in the same place so he could be found when he returned. Dream was happy to hear it, and only continued to offer as a show that the hybrid was always welcome with them. By the soft, gentle glow those white eyes would take on every time he did, right before it was inevitably turned down, Dream knew Bad understood. That was more than enough.)

Besides Bad, they met a sweet, yet fierce girl and her silent companion that she frequently spoke for, almost innately understanding all he ever wanted to say and voicing it for him. A young boy with a deep respect for nature and love of sly tricks, balanced out by his caring smile. And a ridiculously tall hybrid that had scared the socks off of George the first time they’d met him, being part creeper and all, but had swiftly become a close friend as well through his steadfast loyalty and determination. Dream in particular took a shine to him, fascinated by all he could create with redstone dust and mechanisms, the likes of which the young man had never seen before. 

All were welcome for as long as they wanted to stick around, and Dream made sure to carefully remember each, no matter how long they stayed. They were all out here in these servers by themselves, and they were all important.

It wouldn’t do to forget a single face.

* * *

He knew announcing his plan would be met with resistance and harsh reactions.

Knew, and yet somehow hadn’t expected the backlash to be quite this explosive.

Sapnap and George alone were shouting loud enough for it to be considered screeching, Bad was attempting to physically shake some sense into him, and Sam, Ponk, Alyssa, and Callahan—who he had all gathered to propose this idea of his to—all looked to be in varying states of stricken, shocked, and horrified.

Who knew so few words could procure such a visceral reaction? That so few words could affect others this drastically? Maybe Dream hadn’t thought this through, maybe he should have continued keeping his plan to himself.

( _No, no, **trust.**_ )

They deserved his honesty.

So maybe that was why he’d gotten in contact with all of them, called them here and gathered them all together in the living room of Bad’s house with silent, questioning eyes staring and analyzing his every movement. Why he’d uttered those four accursed words when the stares became too much, the hush too much, and he just wanted everyone to look _anywhere else._

“I’m taking the Trial.”

Four words never spoken lightly.

The uproar felt so far away.

 _“Dream, Dream,_ what?”

_“What are you **thinking?!”**_

_“You are NOT taking the Trial, you are NOT, I won’t let you, I won’t let you—”_

_“Dream, **please,** don’t, I can’t—I can’t—my mother—_DREAM—”

_“You-you muffinhead!”_

He felt as though everything was slipping through his fingers like sand, his entire being falling to shambles, his mind moored under a stormy sea, water all around him calm as it drowned him with his head submerged below the thunder and waves.

He might’ve spoken at one point. He couldn’t recall.

They were reacting, so he must’ve. He wondered what he said.

_“Dream, we don't need a server to ourselves!”_

_“Dream, please, it's—this is really not necessary.”_

_“We don't want to lose you!”_

_“You idiot, don't you know if you fail the Trial, you don't respawn?!”_

_“Oh my—you—we_ care _about you! Quit being such a_ muffinhead!”

_“We've been fine server-hopping, we don't need an entire world, we just need you!”_

_“Dream, **why are you doing this?”**_

He promised.

They didn’t understand, but he understood them.

He knew he was hurting them with this, knew their thoughts well enough to know what was going through their heads.

Many failed the gods’ Trial.

Many never came back.

George’s mother hadn’t.

Dream might not.

They had every right to yell at him, to scream at him, to never forgive him.

They had every right.

But that would stop nothing.

* * *

No one was born an admin.

* * *

It took eleven years to get to this point. Eleven years since he had walked away from a cardboard box. Dream was tired. He just wanted a home, just wanted to give his friends _that_ at least. But they wouldn’t let him, didn’t want him to.

They told him no, and figured that was that. Told him no, and thought ‘case closed.’

He knew it was dangerous, knew this could be it. Knew that made them scared.

But that was the point.

His choices were limited.

He either made them a home, or he continued to run. And he was so _tired_ of running.

And though none of them would dare admit it, he knew they were tired of running, too.

This was for them as much as it was him. Maybe even more so, because it was for Bo too.

Always for Bo.

That night, while they were all resting safely and comfortably in Bad’s house, Dream gathered what he could without alerting any of them and slipped out the door.

The click of the latch behind him echoed hollowly through his skull.

He didn’t tell them he was leaving.

* * *

It took eleven years, but he did it.

Through blood and sweat and pain, he earned them a home.

They could be safe now.

They could be happy.

The Dream SMP was for them.

All for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a grilled cheese for dinner tonight, i feel amazing lol
> 
> Just remembered: this fic is actually a bit of a prequel to the series. All the fics here are probably going to be kinda short with three or four chapters, but there'll be plenty of angst (and actual FLUFF because that, my friends, is where I shine), so I guess stick around? Idk I'm just vibin  
> ( _and I also have enough ideas for about five of these fics and maybe a couple one-shots oh gosh help me—_ )  
> I dunno how often I'll get back to this series because *life* and I also have a fic I'm working on with my best friend so...  
> Meep.  
> I also technically started writing this series after Tommy's beach party. Therefore, this is a studious example of ignoring canon vehemently with no mercy lol  
> canon is something I have obliterated with zero regrets, I'm taking big bro Dream and I'm hit and runnin', see ya! *books it*
> 
> (and thanks again for reading <333)


End file.
